


Lamppost

by magpiesandmabari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpiesandmabari/pseuds/magpiesandmabari
Summary: A quiet moment alone in the Frostbacks makes for...interesting conversation.





	Lamppost

The fire outside does little to keep the cold away, nor do the extra furs she's slung around her shoulders.

It's awfully convenient, then, that she fits neatly between Alistair's knees with his arms around her while they pass a bottle of whiskey between them, his broad frame making an ideal shelter from the wind that blows through their makeshift camp.

The others went to bed over an hour ago, but it's hard to get a moment alone, out here in the mountains and they're still in high spirits after successfully retrieving the Ashes. Finally, something good out of all the tragedy and heartache they've been through over the past three months or so.

The whiskey is ostensibly fighting off the chill, but not the sole reason for the colour in their cheeks.

“I’ve been pondering something,” She says, slurring her words slightly after taking another messy sip from the bottle. “If you don't mind me asking?”

“Seeing as it's you,” Alistair grins, taking the bottle as she roughly shoves it behind her into his waiting hand. “Ponder away.”

“If you were raised in the Chantry, have you never…?”

_Maker, she doesn't hang about, does she?_

He's grateful that she's facing away from him, unable to see the blush that's creeping across his face and up to his ears.

"Never...? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?"  
  
She tilts her head back to look up at him, pinching his chin playfully.  
  
"You know what I mean."

And of course, he does. But he isn't going to give up his answer that easily and only offers a theatrical shrug as he takes a swig, smacking his lips in satisfaction.  
  
"I'm not sure I do. Have I never seen a Basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"  
  
She pouts, dark brows knitted into a frown. "Now you're making fun of me."

He laughs, grinning down at her and it's apparently contagious, met with a broad smile that makes him feel a little lightheaded.

Or maybe it's the whiskey.

"Make fun of you, dear lady? _Perish the thought._ ” He shifts closer, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leans in close, dropping his voice to a low purr. “Well, tell me: have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

He's not the only one blushing now. But unflappable as ever in situations like these, she holds her own.

“Why yes, I've licked a lamppost in winter!” She says evenly, lips curled into a wry smirk. He laughs approvingly.  
  
“Just the once? And you didn't lose half of your tongue in the process? I'm impressed.”

He hands her the bottle, leaning back as he watches her drink. Or rather, her tongue licking an errant drop that runs down the neck and makes his mind begin to race. He doesn't realise he's staring until she nudges him for an answer.  
  
“I, myself, never had the _pleasure_. Not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but...you know.”

“Never had the opportunity?” She says, idly tracing circles over his thigh with her nails. It's not as though he can even feel it through his armor, not really, but the mere suggestion of her hands on him anywhere so intimate is enough to be... _distracting_.

"Well," He starts, slightly breathless. "Living in the Chantry, is...not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?"

She tilts her head, thoughtful.

“No, it's not.”

Her hand stills and he has to suppress the whine that rises in his throat, leg twitching impatiently at the sudden lack of contact.

“Good,” He murmurs, resting his head on her shoulder and curling around her. “You’d...want a gentleman to court you, wouldn't you?”

He bites his lip, suddenly realising the implication behind his words. “I-If you wanted to be _courted_ by someone, that is.”

She nods, turning to look at him.

“It'd certainly make a change, considering the height of romance in the Circle was someone whispering in your ear: pull up your robes, sweetheart, and I'll show you my _staff_.”

He snorts loudly, burying his face in the crook of her neck to muffle the howl of laughter he lets out, not wanting to disturb the others. (Or indeed, any other creatures lurking about, looking for easy prey in the form of two pissed Grey Wardens.)

She grins when he sits up again, shoulders still shaking with the effort.

“I...I'll have to cross that one off my list, then.” He muses, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“But you know, I thought _someone_ was already courting me. Or do you hand out roses and impossibly romantic compliments to all the girls?” She says softly, reaching up to run cool fingers over his cheek and through his hair.

He swallows hard, blood rushing in his ears as she pulls him in close and everything starts to slow down, save for his heart; beating so fast it's threatening to burst out of his chest.

“You know what they say about assuming…” He mumbles, closing his eyes as she kisses him.

It's not the first time, but the way it makes him feel, it might as well be. The worry and fear constantly in the back of his mind melts away, until there's just her. And how wonderful she is, burning bright amidst the cold and dark of a world that would otherwise be desperately lonely.

He's reluctant to let her go when they draw apart, pressing their foreheads together and keeping his arms firm around her waist. She smiles against his mouth, still holding his face in her hands.

“I think it's safe to assume now.”

He nods slowly, pecking her on the lips before she slips out of his embrace and unsteadily rises to her feet, offering him a hand up.

They stand close, Alistair pulling the furs that have slipped from her shoulders tight around her.

“You'd think a fire mage would have a better way of keeping warm.” He says, gently rubbing her fingers between his palms.

“You mean you _don't_ like being cuddled up with me, then?” She answers with a coy grin, dark eyes watching him across their hands while he brings them to his mouth and blows on them. He pauses, thoughtful.

“...or I could just stop talking.”

“A wise decision.”

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before drawing her into his arms again. “Now there's something I don't hear very often.”

It feels like it's been hours, not minutes when she gently nudges him away.

“As pretty a pair of statues we'd make, I'd rather not be found frozen out here in the morning.”

He huffs, nodding as she leaves his arms for the last time. “Hm. You may have a point.”

She beams, bidding him goodnight with a peck on the cheek before she walks towards the tent she's sharing with Wynne and Leliana and disappears inside.

_Goodnight, my love._

He stands staring at the spot where she'd been stood for a moment before slipping away into his own, where a snoring Brother Genitivi is waiting for him.

Any thought of darting pink tongues and _lampposts_ would have to wait for another night, he supposes with a grimace.


End file.
